How Do You Know?
by NotAnIslander
Summary: An exploration of "You love me, real or not real" through the lens of the five senses
1. Chapter 1

Dear Reader,

Have you ever stood by the shore and watched the waves crashing down? If you have, you'll notice there's a pattern to them. Some crash hard, and some ripple down, but the all hit then back away to the ocean where they came. This story is like that. Each chapter begins at the start, builds, then crashes on the shore. Some are big, some are small, but all lead us from the start to the conclusion, to "this would have happened anyway."

I began this story at least 3 years ago, perhaps more, right after I finished Caged Bird. The inspiration comes from my life as a kindergarten teacher. Our science curriculum covers the Five Senses. I thought, what if I explored "You love me, real or not real" from that perspective? And so began this journey. Along the way I earned a Masters in Education, watched my children grow up, and little by little, plunked away at this story.

All of this to say, Please enjoy:

KPKPKPKP

HOW DO YOU KNOW?

"How do you know?" you ask him. "How do you know if it's real?" you're lying in bed after a sweet evening of discovering each other.

"You seem so confident. How do you know?"

His mother used to tell him this story, it's one of the happy memories he has of her, he tells you. She wasn't always so pragmatic. "She loved us, in her own way," he remembers. It's just the stress of living under a despot in a district that only knew coal dust was more than she could handle most days.

He tells you the story of a rabbit. A stuffed rabbit that was loved so much, for so long, that eventually he became real. "So that's how you know?" you say sceptically. "Because you're loved? But how do you know it's real?"

"Well," he tells you quietly. "when you want to know if something is real, what do you ask yourself? Can you smell it? Hear it? See it? Taste it? Feel it? If you can, that's how you know it's real."

You think about that for some time.


	2. Chapter 2: Smell

**I want to thank Lou and Chele for their help with this chapter. Your insight and suggestions have been invaluable to me!**

**Smell**

_Peeta and I grow back together_

Putrid. Festering. Stench. Those are the first words that come to his mind as he steps off the train. If it were two years ago, the smells would have made him retch. But with all that's happened to him, they are now just smells. He files them away in his brain, planning to dwell on them later. And on what they might mean to him.

One of the former miners greets him as he walks off the platform. "Peeta," he says bluntly as he nods at him. "Good to see you back."

"Thanks," Peeta returns, just as bluntly. He can't remember the man's name, but he has a definite look about him. Seam. "Reclaiming the district?" Peeta asks the man.

"Yeah. Trying to anyway, with what the government has spared for us," he says looking around the wasteland that was the District square. "Sorry about your family."

"Did you see…" he wants to finish, but realizes he already knows the answer.

"No Peeta, I didn't," he shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry, but was all such a mess." After a short pause, he adds, "They're all in the meadow now, if you wanted to pay your respects."

Peeta thinks about this and decides, like dwelling on the stench, today isn't that day. "Maybe another time."

He's feeling a mixture of things. Regret. Envy. Relief. Regret that he didn't spend more time with his family, that the last year of their lives was spent watching their youngest son die in a variety of ways. He's envious of their death. They don't have to figure out their way in this new world. And he feels relief. They never had to see his torture. They never had to live with him, broken and alone. They don't have to see what's become of their world.

"Sure thing," Thom (that's his name!) finishes. "Good to see you back." And the former miner goes about clearing the debris with the others. District 12 may have been destroyed, but it is their home. And pride runs deep in these hills.

Peeta goes on his way, back to a house that was never a home. His brothers attempted to move in with him, but between the distance to the bakery, and Peeta's insomnia, it was just too hard, so he lived alone in that great big house. He goes back to a girl who was never truly his. At least, that's what he thinks. He's not really sure these days. All he knows is that he can't let her go. No matter how hard he, or anyone else, tries.

Putrid. Festering. Stench. That's what she smells when they disembark from the hovercraft. She tries to care, tries to feel something about this, but she finds she can't. She can only walk into her house and sit. Sit with the stench. Sit with the ghosts. Sit with the memories of all that used to be. She's not sure if that smell of death is surrounding her or inside of her. She just knows that it consumes her night and day. It fills her nose and occupies her dreams. Death has become her constant companion day and night.

"I'll see you around," her mentor says.

"I doubt it," she replies bluntly. And she knows it's true. Knows that as soon as he walks out that door he's going to be surrounded by ghosts, just like she is. And the power those ghosts hold is stronger than the will to move on.

She smells the food cooking, but it's a distant smell. Sae might as well be in another house cooking for someone else for all of the good it's doing anyone. She forces Katniss to eat a bit, to get up and move around. But it all smells the same. Like death. Putrid. Festering. Stench.

Dirt. It's the first time he smells anything fresh since he got back a few hours ago. As a boy, he always loved the smell of the dirt as his parents tilled the garden each spring. It's earthy, pungent. It smells like life to him. He carefully digs the flowers out of the ground and places them in the wheelbarrow. He doesn't know if Katniss will like these or not, he just knows he needs to do something to show her he cares, that he's sorry, that Prim shouldn't have died. So he digs up the flowers, breathing in the scent of the dirt that smells like life, and sends a silent thought to Katniss that he's there when she's ready.

Dirt. It's what she smells. Shovels full and shovels full of dirt being dumped on her, burying her alive. "Stop!" She yells as she wakes up. But the smell of dirt is still there. _What's going on? _She wonders. She pulls the door open and stomps outside, ready to take on whatever ghost is outside waiting for her.

It's then that she sees him. She's pulled up short, this ghost is definitely still alive, still human. And when he turns around, and she sees his blue eyes, no longer clouded, she is at a loss.

"_You're back."_

"_Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday. By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone."_

"_What are you doing?"_

"_I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her. I thought we could plant them along the side of the house."_

And she's not sure if it's the smell of the dirt outside, or the pull of the ghosts inside, but she turns and runs back into the house.

With the smell of dirt still on his hands, and the smell of the flowers still in his nose, he heads inside. She doesn't look well. She looks so haunted. He's sure that from now on, the smell of dirt will always remind him of this moment.

He goes upstairs to open his closet, to see if anything survived the year. He's surprised to see everything just as it was. He pulls out a short sleeve shirt and a pair of pants, puts them on the bed, and heads into the bathroom. He turns on the shower, steps in, and washes the stench of the District, the smell of the dirt off of his skin.

It's time to get busy living this new life. But in order to move forward in the new life, he needs to be reminded of parts of his old. He looks through the pantry. Dr. Aurelius was right when he told him, before he left the Capitol, that Sae had made sure everything was stocked for him. He smiled as he saw the array of flours, spices, baking supplies. In order to live in the now, he needed to pull on the strengths of the past. It was time to fill the house up with the smell of home. And that meant baking bread.

Once she's back in her home, the smell of dirt is gone. It's replaced by something far sweeter, far sicker. The scent grows stronger with each step she takes, drawing her closer and closer to its source. In her room, on the dresser, standing tall and proud next to it's dead peers. A rose. A single white rose. At first she wants to run away, close the door and never open it again. But then she realizes something. She is in control. She has the power to snuff out this menace. And she does. She carries the vase to the kitchen and throws it into the fire. The girl is on fire once again.

Upstairs, she turns on the shower. She decides on lavender for the soap. Her mother always told her it was a good scent to relax. Her mother… There's a letter downstairs that hasn't been opened…

She strips out of her clothes, the ones she's been wearing since she returned from the Capitol, days, weeks, months. More like peels them off, really. As she gingerly steps under the water, she lets the warmth surround her. Her scars instantly react to the feel of the water. She feels them tighten up, and then loosen around her bones. The smell of the lavender in the soap reminds her of her mother, and she allows herself to believe her mother's arms are there, and they surround her, comfort her. She uses the lavender to calm her senses and to erase the cloying smell of roses that seems to have climbed up into her nose and staked a claim.

She climbs out of the shower, and gingerly dries herself off with a clean, soft towel. She finds some creams in the cupboard and carefully applies them to the scars. She revels in their soothing scent, camomile she thinks. Maybe some comfrey? After dressing in whatever she finds fastest in the closet, she grabs her old, stench filled clothes and carries them to the kitchen. Sae merely points to the fire as she goes on frying the eggs in bacon grease. The clothes go up in flames, just like her fear of Snow. _Fire beats roses again_ she thinks.

He sits in his kitchen. It's all state of the art, ready to go. "Nothing too good for Peeta Mellark, Victor of the 74th Games!" Effie told him when he moved in that lifetime ago. Everything was clean and orderly, nothing out of place. Except him. Out of place in a district destroyed beyond recognition. Out of place in this house that was never a home. Home. That's something. What makes a house a home? SInce this is what is left for him, he might as well make the best of it.

He walks over to the counter and pulls out the bowls, the mixer, the measuring cups. He finds the yeast, the flour, the salt. Soon, without even thinking about it, the smell of dough rising fills the air.

If he closes his eyes he might be transported back. Back to the kitchen of his youth, where he and his brothers would wrestle, where his father would warn, and his mother would yell. He wonders what it would be like if they survived. Then he realizes it's probably for the best if he doesn't go to that place in his mind. Can't change the past, don't know the future, can only live in the now. And right now, there are loaves of bread to put in the oven.

She sits on their rock. She supposes it's just 'her' rock now, since he won't be coming back. But for a moment, if she closes her eyes tight enough, she'll believe he's here. She can almost smell the wood smoke, the leather of his coat. That's not the him of today, and it certainly isn't the her of today, but the him and her of two years ago. Before all of this mess. She knows she can't go back, and she wonders if she wants to. She's not sure, so she focuses on the now. Eyes closed, what does she notice? The damp, dank smell of the forest. The smell of town, the ashes and stench, it's gone, lost among the trees. Replaced by the sweet smell of the earth and leaves and pine. She wishes she could get lost too. She wonders, if she sits here long enough, will she join this smell? Will she become, like the forest floor, another twig to rot? Parts of her want to, but there are other parts. Parts that will her to go on, maybe for just one more day. And, for just this moment, that is enough.

His first loaves come out smelling fine, but looking a little worse for the wear. Too much kneading? Not enough rising? He's not sure, so he tries again. And again. And again. Until his whole house smells like the bakery. Until he can't escape their memories, even if he tried. So he mixes and he kneads and it rises, and he bakes. This happens all night, until, finally, he gets it right. And he closes his eyes and imagines his father's proud grin, and his mother saying, "Good job. Now clean up," and his brothers laughing at him.

And now it's good. He's made his peace with them and their memories. He's made peace with this house, and with his past.

Sae stopped by yesterday after she left Katniss, said he was invited to breakfast the next morning. "Don't expect much. Just some bacon and eggs. The girl's perked up a bit since you got back though, but I still wouldn't expect much from her, either."

He'll take this loaf, the one he's finally perfected, over at breakfast. Maybe they can begin again.

She sits on the couch. After her soiree into the woods she's too tired to go any farther. She tries to care that Thom had to see her like that, but she finds she doesn't. She just sits there, waiting. She hears the hiss, and her head snaps around. There he is, Buttercup, his nose sniffing the air, as if he's trying to locate the girl. Not the one sitting here though.

"_It was a wasted trip. She's not here… She's not here, you can hiss all you like but you won't find Prim...Get out! Go away! There's nothing left for you here! She's not coming back! She's never coming back here again!"_

And she falls to the floor, crying and rocking.

"_She's dead you stupid cat! She's dead!"_

On and on this goes, until it just can't any longer.

When she wakes up the next morning, she can smell the change in the room. She's in her own room now, and Buttercup sits there, at the head of her bed, keeping watch over her. He snuggles up to her, rubbing his scent all over her, marking her as his now. They both have to accept the unacceptable.

She takes him into the bathroom and washes him off, cleaning him as best as she can. He didn't smell before, but his matted fur and the briars tell her that his trip has not been an easy one. So she washes him off, pulls out the briars from the fur and a thorn from his foot.

By this time, she can smell the food frying in the kitchen. She thinks it might be the first time she's smelled breakfast since she returned. She wonders if this means that she's starting to wake up? As she makes her way down the stairs, another smell hits her. Bread. And she knows, at that moment, he is here with her. Her heart seems to skip a beat, but that is all of the energy she can muster up right now. "I called my mother this morning," is all she can say.

He walks into the room that held his paints and easels. His "talent" they called it. More like his self-therapy, he thinks wryly. But here is where he kept it, and here is where he finds it. He's amazed, once again, that everything is still in its place. A little dusty, perhaps, but nothing's been moved. He wonders if his family stopped by after the final reaping. He wonders if they ever would have come here and picked up his things. If he didn't make it, that is. No point in wondering about all of that now. He's just glad he knows where everything still is. His memories about what is real and not real may be shady, but his memories about things? Those he has. And here is what he's looking for. His paints.

She said she wanted to start a book, like her family's plant book. He remembers the book, but he doesn't remember working on it with her. When she showed him, though, he noticed his artwork. He noticed the brushstrokes, the lines he drew. And he almost cried right in that moment. Because here was a piece to his past that he wasn't sure he'd ever get back.

He smells the paint. The oil still has that scent that he loved the first time he smelled it. He said it made him feel like a real painter. It's not strong, but he knows the turpentine will be. He grabs the box and heads over to her house. It's a beautiful late spring day, perfect for painting on the porch.

She sits on the porch with him .The heat of the day has subsided and the gentle evening begins to cool off. The "smoke" covers her mountains. Even though she knows it's a mist, and not real smoke, she likes to imagine it's the smoke of millions of years worth of fires. She imagines that smell from her own fire blankets her mountains. It's comforting to her, to know that millions of people have lived, loved, and died in these hills. She doesn't feel so alone, knowing that at some other time, others have lost loved ones and lived to move on. Like she's trying to do. Like every day she tries to.

She smells the paint almost as soon as he squirts it onto his palette. They've been at this long enough, this book or memories, that she can recognize the smell before she sees it.

She turns to watch him mixing the colors, he sees her and offers her a small smile, then goes about his work. "What are you making?" she quietly asks. It's always quiet now, she is still afraid of disturbing the dead.

"Finnick's eye color. Have I got it right?" he asks her.

"Maybe a little more green?"

And he adds more until they are both satisfied.

He paints and he bakes. He paints to exorcise the demons Snow put in him, and he bakes to remember. In each loaf, each cookie, he remembers his family. As time goes on her begins to remember other recipes too- the goat cheese and apple tart his family used to sell. The cheese buns he used to make… for her! For Katniss! He remembers how she used to devour them when he made them, during that in-between time. Through trial and error, he tries and he bakes, and he tries some more until he gets it right.

He can smell them baking in the oven as he cleans up his mess. But soon that savory smell is overtaken by one more sour, more pungent, and somewhat tinny.

"Mutt! She killed your family! Look at her! Covered in blood and smelling like a wild dog!" he hears the voices in his head shout.

"No! Not real!" he shouts back, and he hangs on to the counter until the vision passes.

The next thing he smells is the cheese buns burning in the oven.

As time goes by, the smell from town mellows and dissipates. The meadow, which now contains the remains of the old District 12, has been covered over with fresh dirt. Ground is tilled, they begin work on a factory, to replace the outmoded coal mines that were destroyed. It's a new day in District 12.

Katniss still makes her way into the woods each day. The routine is good for her. She's stronger than she was, almost as strong as she used to be. The smells of 12 don't hurt her any longer, but she still prefers the smell of the forest. She sits on her rock and smells the berries ripening, the flowering bushes with their sweet fragrance calm her nerves.

She smells it before anything else. That pungent smell that wild dogs carry with them. Without even looking, she loads her bow, turns, and shoots. The dog lies dead in one shot, blood seeping from its single wound.

She lets out a "whoop!" without even thinking. She's killed squirrels and trapped rabbits, but this is the largest animal yet. She knows the fur will make a nice lining for a hat and some gloves this winter, and surely Sae could do something with the meat? She field dresses the animal and heads straight to Peeta's with the kill.

As she approaches the back door, she smells the cheese buns baking and smiles. _He's remembered something! _She thinks. _And it's about me…_

Forgetting she's covered in blood, and the stench of the animal, she opens the door to his kitchen. She's stopped short by what she sees. He smile at her quickly, but then look changes to bewilderment. He closes his eyes as he grabs on to the counter muttering, "Not real…"

She slowly backs out of the kitchen and makes her way over to Haymitch's. As she leaves she can smell the cheese buns burning in the oven.

"Damn Haymitch! Don't you ever bathe?" She asks holding her nose as she walks into his house.

"Well hello to you too, sweetheart," he says looking up from his chair. "And may I remind you that perhaps a look in the mirror is in order."

"Shut up Haymitch. Listen, could you go check up on Peeta for me?"

"Why me? Trouble in paradise? What did you do to him?"

"Please Haymitch?"

"Yeah, fine. But why?"

"I mean… I want...I'm just…"

"I'll check on him. But it sounds like you need to talk to him."

He's cleaning up the mess after burning the cheese buns. No amount of open windows and cross breeze will get rid of the stench, though he wonders if it's just him. The embarrassment he feels at having Katniss set him off weighs heavily on him.

He knows it wasn't her that caused his episode. It was a "perfect storm" of sensory overload. Or that's what Dr. Aurelius would call it. The memories associated with the smell of the cheese buns mixed with the smell of her is what sent him over the edge. Good news is that he can add that to his list of triggers, as imperfect as that is…

"Damn Haymitch! Do you ever bathe?" he says, then turns around to see his former mentor standing in the doorway.

"Well well well, that's a fine how do you do!" he replies. "Funny thing is that's just what Katniss said."

"She was over to your place?" he knows now that Haymitch knows what happened.

"Yup. Asked me to come check up on you."

"Well, I'm fine. Thank you." he says tersely, then goes back to scrubbing the pans.

"She cares, you know. She's scared for you. Not of you, for you."

"Yeah, well… I just…"

"Funny thing again. That's exactly what she told me. When you're done cleaning up, call her." And he leaves, taking his sour stench with him.

He sits next to her in front of the fire. The homy smells of the house surround them, the clean of the kitchen after a good meal, the smell of the fire in the hearth. The wind is howling outside, the smell of winter all around them. But inside, they're warm, and safe. Her scent fills his head with longing. Wanting to stay with her for always. He remembers those nights on the train, when that was the only good sleep they ever had.

She went to his house for supper and stayed as late as she could, something she's been doing a lot of, especially since that night she trashed her room. Going home alone is becoming harder and harder. The crisp winter breeze of the daytime becomes the howling wind of the night that stirs up the ghosts in her mind.

The smells of the house surround her. The clean of the kitchen after a good meal, the smoke of the fire in the hearth. Soon her nostrils fill with other smells. Smells of him- the scents of cinnamon and dill that make her wonder if they have somehow seeped into the essence of him.

"Can I stay tonight?" She asks suddenly, looking into the fire instead of at him. "I can't go home. Please?"

"Of course Katniss," he says nervously. "Always."

Together they sit on the couch, side by side. They've moved ever closer as the months have passed. Buttercup is playing with a ball of yarn on the floor, and it appears the ball of yarn is winning.

One minute she's laughing at Buttercup, the next her head is full of the smells of cinnamon and dill. She leans in to kiss him for the first time.

One minute he's laughing at Buttercup, the next his head is full of the smell of pine and earth. He leans in to kiss her for the first time.


	3. Chapter 3: Hearing

**Hearing**

She hears talking. On and on it goes, but she doesn't listen. She knows they're talking to her, but she doesn't care. She hears the phone ringing. It's harsh bell cuts into her core, but she ignores it. She knows they want to talk to her, but she doesn't care. She just sits there, ignoring the world as it goes on around her.

He hears the whistle of the train as it pulls into the station. "Everyone please prepare to disembark. Welcome to District 12, and welcome to a new day in Panem." _A new day in Panem _he thinks. He's heard this at every stop on the way, and he wonders what it really means. He thinks Plutarch has too much time on his hands if this is his idea of a motivational greeting. The sounds of the district surround him as he steps on the platform. The hammering of nails, the squeaking wheels of the carts used to carry the dead off.

"Peeta," he hears to his side. "Good to see you back." It's one of the old District 12 residents. He doesn't know his name, but he remembers seeing him around...before.

After a short conversation, Peeta heads off towards Victors Village. Soon, the sounds of town are replaced by the sounds of the woods off to the side. The rustle of the breeze in the trees, the songs of the birds. He thinks the woods might be a nice place to relax before stepping into his house, and facing whatever awaits him there.

She first hears it in a dream, but it's real. It's crazy how real sounds infiltrate our sleeping life. The crunch of the earth, the scrape of a rock, the thud of the dirt on the ground. It's the rhythm of work. Crunch, scratch, thud. Crunch, scratch, thud. It's the sound of a shovel, digging a hole. In her dream, she is at the bottom of that hole, and people are shoveling dirt in, burying her under it all. First Glimmer, then Rue, Cato, Marvel, Cecelia, Wiress, Gloss, Cashmere, Boggs, Pollux, Finnick.

Prim.

Even awake the sound carries on. It's the sound of a shovel, digging a hole. Crunch, scratch, thud. Crunch, scratch, thud. How dare they? Who do they think they are? She doesn't know who- or what- is making that sound, only that it needs to stop. She can't stand it any longer, so she stomps angrily out the door to face whatever ghosts await her. She knows it isn't rational, but what in her world is truly rational?

She stops short with the slam of the door behind her. He's standing there, leaning over the shovel, and planting something. The sound of her breathing and the beating of her heart are all she can hear at first. What is it he's planting? Roses? How dare he!

"_What are you doing?"_

"_I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her," he says. "I thought we could plant them along the side of the house."_

No, not roses. "Primroses" he says. "For her."

And she stomps away, door slamming behind her once again, feet pounding up the stairs like the dull thud of the dirt clumps as he fills in the holes.

He hears all of these sounds. The door slamming, the heavy breathing, the angry voice (or was it scared? He's not really sure), the door again, and the feet stomping up the stairs. He wonders if he's done something wrong, something stupid. The last thing he wanted to do was to screw this up. He's better now, he knows he is. He just doesn't know if she is.

It isn't long before he hears more noises. More stomping, glass crashing. He decides maybe it's best if he just finishes what he's started, pack everything up, and go home. So he begins.

He's almost ready to go when he hears the door again. Looking up, he sees Greasy Sae standing there.

"Well boy, welcome home!" She says, sounding like she means it.

"Thanks," he says a bit dejectedly,looking down. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. Tell Katniss I'm sorry, please?" He almost begs.

"No need for that. That's the most she's moved since she got back!" She's almost giddy. "I think you're going to be good for her. Come by tomorrow for breakfast, and bring some bread, ok?" Asking the question, but he knows it's more of a command. He may not have many memories of her, but he knows by the sound of her voice there is no use arguing. People do what she says.

"Sure," he smiles back. "I'll see you then." He turns the wheelbarrow around, the wheels squeak as the shovel knocks around, and he's off, feeling a little bit better than before.

She hears the hiss. He's the last thing she wanted to hear. The last thing she expected to hear. That damn cat. Of course he came back! And to what? A bombed out district, ashes, dirt, and no Prim. Dammit. No Prim.

"Go away you damned cat! Leave me alone! She's not here, so you can just move right on!" She screams at him, throwing pillows and kicking her feet his way. The pillows hit the wall and fall to the ground, her feet slam into the floor, but do nothing to deter the damned cat.

He won't leave. He just meows louder at the noises she's making. Soon her screams turn to sobs, and then sobs turn to a keening neither has ever heard before.

Buttercup sits just outside of her grasp, letting her get out her anger and frustration and grief.

The keening goes on and on, into the evening.

He hears it all the way from his house. This unearthly noise, disturbing the quiet sounds of crickets and cicadas chirping in the early evening. He rushes out his front door, wondering what direction it's coming from, and then he knows. He knows what it is. And it's coming from her house.

He rushes over, thinking someone is there, bothering her. He's prepared to defend her. She may not be ready to see him, but he'll be damned if he lets anyone or anything bother her again. He will protect her now, just as they've always done.

He hears the cats meow, and can't believe his ears. Buttercup is back. _Of course he's back. That's so like him_. In a way Peeta thinks Prim has something to do with this. The two things Prim loved most in the world, her sister and her cat. They need to be together.

Peeta stays outside, knowing the last thing Katniss would want is to be seen in this position. So he stays out and listens. He waits until there are no more sounds coming from inside the house.

Once it's quiet, he goes in as silently as his natural stride and his prosthetic will allow. And there she is, in a ball on the carpet, with Buttercup circling her, as if he, too, is trying to save her.

Peeta gently picks her up, both afraid to leave her, and afraid she will wake up. She doesn't even stir as he carries her up to the room he remembers as hers. From back when they were friends, when they would spend hours in her room working on her plant book. The only sound now is the rhythm of his gait on the stairs.

He thinks back on that time in between, when they were able to spend time together, just the two of them. Those were some of the best moments of his young life. In those moments, they enjoyed each other's company in a simple, innocent way. They would laugh and talk. He hopes to hear that laughter from her again, hopes to hear her voice say his name one more time.

The phone rings. That could only mean one of two people: Dr. Aurelius, or her mother. She's not sure which one she'd rather speak to less. But she's made a promise to Peeta to try. So she answers it and listens for the voice on the other end to identify themself before she speaks.

She listens to the good doctor tell her to keep up with her routines, keep talking to others (especially Peeta because he really does seem to reach her when no one else does).

She knows he's right, about everything. It still irks her to have to say it out loud though. Because the last thing she wants to admit is that he's right.

The phone rings. It could only be one person calling him, because no one else is left to call. So he picks up the phone and listens to the good doctor tell him to remember his breathing exercises when the stress gets to be too much. And when things get too intense with Katniss, it's ok for him to step back and let Katniss deal with her own problems in her own way.

He listens to the doctor tell him that he's doing so much better than anyone ever expected. So much so, that he'd like to write a paper on Peeta's progress. _He's not so sure about that. What good would it do? He can only think that the last thing he needs is more people knowing about his torture. _Peeta tells the doctor he'll think about it. But he already knows he wants to say no. Maybe he'll talk to Katniss about it? No, she'd definitely say no. Not the most objective viewpoint. Maybe Haymitch. Yeah, he thinks he'll head over there as soon as this phone call is over with.

Winter is always so silent. The snow falls silently. The house is quiet, at least during the day it is. At night it's a different story.

It's the voices in her head she can't stand. It's been a year since Prim died, since the war ended. But still the voices rage on. They wake her up in the middle of the night, screaming for justice. Justice that death has denied them. So they haunt her instead.

She's so tired of it all. She can't stand it, really. So she does the only thing she can think to do in the middle of the night. She screams right back.

She screams until her voice is hoarse, and then she screams some more. She jumps out of bed and knocks her lamp over. It makes such a satisfying sound that she knocks her other lamp over. Not content to stop with that, she begins to throw the blankets and pillows around too. Next comes the dresser. It lands with a loud thud. The bedside table is easier to throw. It doesn't go far, but it does make a satisfying "crack" when it lands on the floor.

This goes on and on until there is nothing left standing in her room but herself. And she hears the huff of her breath and the beating of her heart as they calm her down. She may have a mess in front of her, but finally, she feels like she's winning.

Peeta is sleeping with the window open, like he always does, even in the dead of winter. He thinks that's why he hears it so loudly, that and the new fallen snow has increased the echoes across the Village.

The screaming he's used to, but this is a different sound. This is a thud and a bang. This is a crash and a crack. He hears Buttercup screech in the night, and hears him thud down the steps. Peeta imagines Buttercup is happy to leave the scene. But it makes Peeta wonder if he should go over and see what the problem is.

He heads out into the quiet evening, or what was once a quiet evening. He hears the doors of other neighbors open and close. They are obviously wondering what's going on over at Katniss's house, but too afraid to step in. He guesses it's a good thing he's there.

He steps into the house and notices the crashing and banging has stopped. He cautiously walks up the steps and peers into her room. She's standing there breathing deeply.

He climbs over the debris in the room to get to her. Wrapping her up in a hug, he asks carefully, "Feel better now?"

"Yeah," she lets out a sigh, and breathes in his scent. "Yeah I do." She allows her arms to cling to him.

"Then, why don't we work together to clean this up," he says ever so gently.

"Thank you Peeta," she responds quietly.

"You're welcome Katniss. Anytime."

And they both know he means it.

_Saw, thud, bang, zip_

The sound of rebuilding fills the air. For some reason Katniss doesn't like this. To build over the lives that used to be. She's afraid they will all forget, move on, act like these people who died at the wrong end of the bombs never existed, or weren't important.

_There are the heroes _she thinks as she looks at what used to be the meadow.. Madge, who brought morphling to Gale when he was lying close to death on her kitchen table. Darius, who stood up for Gale and it cost him first his freedom, then his pride, and finally his life. He may have died in the Capitol, may have been a peacekeeper from 2, but still. He was 12 just like the rest. The shop owners, the miners, all of those who toiled away each day, beaten down by the Capitol and the only thanks they ever received was a death sentence they didn't even know was coming.

She runs off to the woods, anxious to replace the sounds of rebuilding, of forgetting, with the sounds of a stream, a bird, the wind through the trees.

_Saw, thud, bang, zip_

He's gone into town for the first time since he's returned. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he's surprised at how far the clean up has come. He notices that foundations are being laid for shops and homes. The whole scene makes him both happy and melancholy at the same time. Time marches on, and the rebuild needs to happen, but somehow it still seems so fresh, so new.

"Peeta!" The men yell, "come over here!"

He heads in their direction, knowing all along where he is going. He takes deep breaths to control the voices in his head. "Not real," he mumbles. "Not real."

By the time he's to the work site, he knows he's gotten his demons under control. "So, this is it, is it?" He asks, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

"Sure is Peeta," Thom tells him. "It's yours you know. It's your property now."

"Anyone asking to buy up these lots?" He asks waving his hand in the general direction of the bakery and the other torn down shops, trying to avoid what he knows will be asked next.

"Yep. Plenty of interest. But yours and the Cartwrights are the two we know of that have first dibs."

"Have you heard from Delly or her brother?"

"They want a building here, but they're not ready to come back yet. We said we'd build it, and they have a year to claim. She seemed fine with that."

"Sure." he nods. "Makes sense."

"What about you Peeta? What's your interest here?"

He knew this question was coming, he prepared all last night for it. The voices seems to get louder in his head though, so he answers quickly, "I'll take it. I'll get back to you on the plans for it. But I think I'll rebuild."

And he quickly heads home, the voices following him all the way.

Katniss doesn't see him or hear from him for two days.

She's forgotten how loud he is in the woods. She supposes it's to be expected. He was loud with two good feet, let alone now, with a prosthetic. Still though, it's a good thing she wasn't planning on hunting. The animals have all fled, because of the racket they're making.

At least he has enough sense to not talk while they walk. Sometimes the words are not only hard to say, but hard to hear as well. He's always so careful, so gentle, so afraid of hurting her.

What she really wants is for him to yell at her. To tell her how awful she is. Because she knows how horrible she really is on the inside. She knows she doesn't deserve all of this kindness he constantly shows her. That's why the words hurt so much. Because she is sure he doesn't mean them. He can't, can he? Why would he? She's done nothing but hurt him since the day he gave her bread.

So they walk in silence until they get to the clearing. They sit and relax in the calm forest, listening to the sounds of the world around them. It quiets her inner thoughts.

He smiles at her and thanks her for showing him this place. She tells him that this is where she and Gale would meet, and then she pretends to ignore the subtle clearing of his throat.

Once again, she's sure she doesn't deserve the kindness of his unsaid words. So she closes her eyes, leans back to the ground, and just listens.

They've gone into the woods. She has a spot to show him, it's just past the fence. It's the first time he's ever ventured into the woods beyond the fence. He remembers his mother telling him stories of evil things that lived beyond the fence. It's the last place he wants to go, and the only place he wants to be, because he's with her. Even after everything, he'd still follow her anywhere.

So with the sound of their footsteps echoing through the trees, she takes him to the clearing she where she would go with Gale. They sit, listening to the wind blow through the hills and the valleys. They listen to the birds sing in the air. He wishes she'd sing a bit, but knows better than to press it. He's just happy to sit here with her, the sounds of the earth coming back to life around them. Just as they are coming back to life.

Katniss was walking past the downstairs bathroom when she sees it. Buttercup is leaning over the toilet, trying to reach something and he falls in. He's out in record time, hissing and spitting at both the toilet and Katniss. She doesn't know why he's mad at her, she didn't do anything.

The sound just bubbles up to her throat from her diaphragm and she can't help it. She's laughing before she knows it. And not just laughing, doubled over belly laughing. So hard her stomach muscles are aching.

It's been so long since she's laughed, she feels guilty. Well, she almost feels guilty. Who wouldn't laugh at Buttercup in this situation?

For the first time in a long time, Katniss feels a bit lighter. She's not sure how long it will last, so she makes a mental note to remember this moment and hang on to it, ready to pull it out when she needs to.

It happens so suddenly that he thinks he's hearing things. He's walking by her house on his way to town when the noise makes its way out of the door and into his hearing.

Someone is laughing. It's been awhile since he's heard that sound. He runs up the steps and leans in the door. There she is. Katniss is doubled over laughing at something Buttercup has done. The sound puts a smile to his face. It's one of the best sounds he's heard in a very long time.

She lays together next to him, in the clearing, staring up into the blue sky. The meadow is beginning to grow over, now that the snows have melted and the ground begins to dry. But it's still too soon to go there. She's sure they will all yell at her if she does.

She hears the birds singing, "That's a chickadee" she says.

"And that was a dove, right?" he volleys back. She's been teaching him the sounds of the birds. "Yep! Good ear Mellark!" and she smiles at him.

"I heard you, the other day," he says seriously.

"Heard me? What?" she's a bit uncomfortable now.

"Laughing."

"Oh," she smiles slightly. "Buttercup fell into the toilet." and she begins to laugh again, in spite of herself. He laughs too.

"It's nice to hear you laugh."

"Yeah…" she answers unsurely. "It felt good too. But then it doesn't."

"It's OK to be happy sometimes, you know," he tells her.

She's heard this from Dr. Aurelius. She's heard this from her mother. She's even heard this from Haymitch. She's never believed them. But now? Hearing it from Peeta? She's not sure why, but it's only his voice that reaches her. She thinks she might be close to accepting happiness again.

They lay together in the clearing, listening to the sounds of birds in the trees. The crickets chirp happily around them. Katniss has been teaching him the sounds of the birds, and he's getting pretty good at it too. But there's one bird he hasn't heard sing yet. The mockingjay. He knows they love to sing along with those whose voices they deem worthy. He wonders if today will be the day the mockingjay chooses to sing.

They talk about happiness, how it's OK to be happy again. He's not sure, but he thinks she's listening to him now. He looks at her and smiles, then reaches across and squeezes her hand.

"It's OK to be happy Katniss. Prim would want that, you know."

They've been sharing a bed now for a while. Ever since the night after she destroyed her room.

It began while they were having supper at his house. The conversation between them just went on and on, and before they knew it, it was midnight and both of them were yawning. It happened naturally. Peeta stood up and asked, "Come to bed?" And she did.

As time went on, more and more of Katniss's things stayed at Peeta's until one day they noticed there was more of her at his place, then at hers. So, they packed the rest up, made the appropriate phone calls to her mother and the good doctor, made sure Buttercup understood, and that's where they were.

What Katniss forgot is that she is the loud sleeper and Peeta is the quiet one. It's so quiet at nights next to him, the only sound she hears is his solid heartbeat where her head rests on his chest. It soothes her soul.

But sometimes, before bed, she hears noises coming from the bathroom. The water is running, but she's pretty sure she doesn't hear him brushing his teeth or washing up. What she hears are grunts, groans. She knows he's trying to be quiet, but he isn't succeeding. She even hears the occasional, "Fuck Katniss", but it's pretty quiet.

This makes her smile in a way she didn't think it ever would.

He's trying to be quiet. God he feels like an ass. But he can't help it. She's right there, and she's in his mind and in his thoughts all of the time. If he's going to make it through the night without scaring her away, he feels like he needs to do this.

It isn't every night, but it's enough. It's being in such close proximity to her he tells himself. It's hearing her humming as she finishes up the dishes. Or hearing her curse the cat because he's gotten underfoot again. He's not sure exactly what sets him off, probably anything and everything. He just knows that Katniss makes him hard, just by being herself.

So, before bed some nights, he turns on the faucet and pulls down his pants. He tries to keep his groans to himself. Tries not to talk so loud, make so much noise. But God she's so beautiful, and gorgeous. The way her ass looked in those pants the other day. The way her tits were just so perfect in that shirt. When she wears her hair down, he just wants to pull it to hear her groan. The unassuming way she moves around in her nightclothes, forgetting that the only thing that exists between their two bodies is a thin layer of material. The sounds she makes as she stretches in the morning. "Shit! Ungh! Fuck Katniss!"

He cleans himself up and finishes getting ready for bed, careful not to meet her eye as he climbs into bed.


	4. Chapter 4: Sight

**Sight**

The landscape whizzes by as he stares out the window. Dr. Aurelius released him yesterday, and he wasted no time leaving the Capitol. He bought the first ticket he could, found a seat, and kept his vision set straight out the window. He's not sure how much time has passed, he's not even sure if he's slept, but he sits up at attention as the hills of his home begin to come into view. Home. District 12. He's been focused on this moment from the time he went into the hospital until now. His sights have always been set on home.

She sits and stares ahead at the fire, watching as it dies down. Sae comes in the next day, banks it up, and lights it anew. Katniss continues to stare at it, not diverting her sight to the right or the left.

KPKPKPKPKP

He gets off the train, and looks around. The rubble is still there, the destruction of his home all around. He speaks to one of the former miners, who points out where his family is buried. He quickly averts his eyes, "Another time, thanks." And he heads toward the Village.

Sae tells her it's a fine day out. But she doesn't want to look. "I don't have my bow." She says as she closes her eyes. It's easier to keep the world at bay if she can't see it moving on without her.

"Look down the hall." The older woman says. She finishes her chores for the morning and leaves, looking back at the girl who meant so much to so many. They would hardly recognize her now.

Eventually she gets up to look. She sees it there, just waiting for someone to pick it up. But that is as far as she looks.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

The first time he sees her he thinks of ashes. He's been digging up a little garden as it were, next to the house. Planting the primroses that remind him so much of the innocent girl caught in the crossfire. He hopes Katniss doesn't mind this bold gesture.

He turns to see her standing there, looking at him with fear, anger, curiosity. She's just a burned out pile of ashes that's been blown around, then swept up and left. He sees the sunken eyes that show fear and shock. He sees the burned body that has eaten only enough to survive. He sees matted hair that hasn't been washed in days, weeks, months?

Most would see despair in her, but he sees beauty in those ashes. He sees the girl he knew, and he sees what she could be again. She still doesn't realize the effect she has. She just needs a little vision of her own.

She stomps out on to the front porch, and sees him there. She'd know that back anywhere, know those muscles and that posture. "_You're back" _she says bluntly. No use wasting energy on emotions like shock or anger, surprise or joy.

When she first sees him, she thinks of a plant. One that has been planted in fertile soil and is finally beginning to grow into its own stable stalk. She wants to be like him. She wants to know that growth is possible. But she's afraid that she's already burned out what little growth she's had. So she turns and looks away, because to continue to stare would hurt too much.

She turns around without a glance and and slams the door. Some things are just too hard to face.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

He stops by at breakfast the next day. Greasy Sae invited him, assured him that whatever looks the girl gives him, he's wanted there. He's definitely wanted. "Haven't seen her this active since she came back. I don't know what it is about you boy, but one look at you and she's a different girl."

When he sees her again, at that breakfast, he thinks of that mythical bird he read about while he was in treatment in the Capitol. _What was it called again? Oh, yes, a phoenix_. She's beginning to rise from her ashes. She's cleaner, and looks a little less haunted. Still sad, but trying with all of her might to pull herself back together.

He sees that cat; the one Prim loved so much. He watches her feed the bacon to it, which makes him smile. No way would she have treated that cat so well before…

He thinks it's good that the cat is there with Katniss. Together they can grow back, stronger than they were before.

When she sees him again, she thinks of bread rising. He's brought a loaf with him, of course. She looks at that loaf of bread, stares at it intently. How perfect it is. She can see the steam rising from it as he slices it and places it on the table.

He's like a loaf of bread, she thinks. How patient the baker needs to be in order for the raw dough to turn into the golden loaf. He's still that raw dough though. He's still rising, not ready to be that golden loaf just yet.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

The days pass and turn into weeks, the weeks turn into months. He watches her, like he did when they were in school together, eyes flitting away as soon as she looks in his general direction. He doesn't want her to know he's staring, but he can't stop watching either. He sees her grow, rise from the ashes. It's slow and painful at times, days on end where he doesn't see her because she can't seem to get out of bed. But those days he does see her, it's almost as if she dusting off the ashes one, by one.

He asks her to walk around the village, "Not far, just around the neighbourhood," he says. They look at the leaves, so green against the blue sky. He shows her how the primroses have taken root and grow, _for her. _He points out the mountains in the distance, how beautiful they look, purple and brown against the clear blue sky. Each day they walk, and he sees her strength returning. The far off look in her eye becomes more focused. One day she begins pointing things out to him.

"Do you see that there?" She asks. "That leaf, don't touch those. Poison ivy."

"I know what poison ivy looks like Katniss," he smiles at her gently.

"Oh. Sorry. I was…" And her voice trails off, because she's not really sure what it was she was trying to do. Maybe find a way to be useful again?

"No! Sorry! I didn't mean it like that." He tries to placate her, noticing how she starts to shrink back into herself again. She's just now beginning to open up, he doesn't want to stifle that.

She's surprised to see him day after day. She knows he's watching her, it's like she can feel it or something. She wonders why he would keep coming back to the scene of this crime, her life. She's glad though. She still likes to look at him, even if he doesn't know it. She loves to study his face, still the same, even if the scars might have altered it slightly. She doesn't think they have though, she still sees the blueness of his eyes, the blonde eyelashes, so long she wonders if they get tangled. She looks at his hands, so strong and yet so gentle. Hands that can lift 100 pound bags of flour, yet can craft a small flower out of sugar.

She remembers her plant book, another time she remembers looking at him, studying him. "I want to make a memory book," she bursts out one day. Those were probably the first words she's spoken to him in hours.

"Sure Katniss," he says, a bit shocked at the forcefulness of her voice.

"It'll be like my family plant book. I've already talked to Dr. Aurelius. He's sending me parchment to do it. I'm going to write the words. Will you do the pictures?" She says all of this so fast and emotionless.

"That would be nice. I think that would be really nice," he replies quietly.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

The woods are teeming with life. He's amazed at how lush the forest grows back after such destruction. He has some new paints, and now that Katniss has brought up this so called 'memory book', he thinks a little practice is in order. So he sits on the edge of the forest, and trains his eye. He sees a bush so full of white blossoms, it looks like it just might burst. He spends the better part of an afternoon studying that bush and sketching it. He stays up all night painting it.

Her bedroom window overlooks the edge of the forest. On those days, those dark days where she finds it hard to move her body, she sits and stares out that window. Even the view of the woods provides her some little therapy. As she stares she sees him sitting there. She wonders what he's doing, but can't be bothered to ask. So she watches him, like before. As a hunter she knows to observe, take note of her surroundings. She sees him stare, then write something down, stare some more, then erase, only to write some more. No. Not writing, drawing. He's drawing something. She smiles softly, pleased he's drawing again. He seems to be recovering. That makes one of them.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

He sees the mountains in the distance, and allows himself a moment to wonder. "What's over there? How far do they go?" But he soon looks away. His mother used to tell him stories when he was a boy. Stories to keep good boys inside the fence. Old memories die hard he reasons.

She looks at the mountains, sees the fog rising and she imagines all of the fires that used to be. She imagines the fog and the purple of the hills, they are the remnants of a time long gone. And she wonders what she always has, "How far do they go?" But she no longer wants to find out. She's seen too much of the world, she's content to stay here, no matter how many ghosts live here too.

KPKPKPKP

One day, they venture to the lake. Katniss wants to show Peeta this important piece to her past, and he is more than happy to oblige. When they get there, Katniss begins to strip off her outer clothes, revealing a soft shift that covers the upper half of her body, while her underwear serves as a covering to her bottom. When dry, they are modest enough. But then she goes into the water and he sees how the fabric clings to her curves. He swallows instinctively. She's so beautiful as she rises out of the water and walks toward him. "Aren't you going to join me in the water?"

"N-no…" he stumbles. "I'm, um.. I'm fine here." He says, fumbling over the words. Suddenly, his mouth no longer works. But, he knows other parts of his body are working just fine, and he licks his lips.

He sees how the shift, now wet, is a bit translucent. Not only does it cling to her curves, but it showcases her breasts perfectly. Her nipples are hardened because of the cold water. As she stands there, it's all he can do to not stare.

She turns and walks a bit down shore. He follows her with his gaze, seeing how her panties just barely cover her ass. He wants so badly to reach out and touch it, but he controls himself and just stares. Could anyone else have such a perfect body? Shit. He's going to need to have some "alone time" before bed tonight, he's sure of it.

Katniss sees him staring at her. She wonders if he likes what he sees, or if her scars repulse him. Of course, she sees his scars, and they don't repulse her. If anything, they intrigue her. They add to his mature look. He no longer looks like the boy she met after the reaping of the 74th games. He looks like a man who has seen the hardest of hardships, yet continues to see the beauty in the world.

But she knows he's staring at her. And then she sees _the _look, and that's how she knows he isn't repulsed. She sees how his eyes travel over her body. She likes this feeling, that she's attractive to him, so she works it for all she's worth, smirking as she walks away down the shore.

She's also been looking at him. She sees how his body has begun to fill out his clothes like they didn't when he first returned. She sees how his muscles are beginning to grow. She also sees what else is beginning to grow. She knows how it all works, her mother is a healer after all. This side of human nature has always embarrassed her, but for some reason, right now, it doesn't. Instead, she's emboldened by it. At night, their soft kisses have begun to take on a bit of that hunger she first felt in the cave, and on the beach. She knows where they are leading. And seeing him, here, like this, she knows it won't be long before she and he will need to satisfy that hunger.

KPKPKPKPPKKPKP

As he sits in bed one night, reading a book, he looks up to see her come through the bathroom door. She has a look of determination on her face. She's wearing the same top she's worn to bed multiple nights before, but instead of shorts, she's only wearing a small pair of panties.

He sees her legs, how toned they are. He can't NOT look at her legs. They're all he can see. They've gained more muscle in the last few months, and though she's small, they look a million miles long right now. Like they reach right up to her neck.

He imagines them wrapped around his waist, and mentally shakes his head. He wants her so badly, but he knows the first move must be up to her. He's pretty sure she's thinking of it too, though. He knows those kisses are getting hungrier, they don't satisfy either of them like they used to.

As she gets ready in the bathroom, she steals her nerves. Tonight is the night. She can no longer wait for him to make the first move. It's time for someone else to take charge, and she supposes since he won't do it, she must be the one.

She takes a deep breath and looks at herself in the mirror. She doesn't see anything special, but for some reason, he does. She knows he watches her. She knows he stares at her when he thinks she's not looking. She knows, however crazy it may seem, she knows he wants her. And she wants him.

She loves to look at his arms, especially when he's kneading dough. How the muscles bulge and them relax. She imagines his hands on her body like that. She wants to see his groin react to her, the way hers does to him. Sometimes she gets wet just thinking about him looking at her.

She picks up her brush and runs it through her hair. Other nights she might put it back up in a braid, to keep it out of the way. But tonight she's leaving it down. He loves to look at it like that, and she will do what she can to fulfill any fantasy of his tonight.

As she walks through the door he thinks, "She still doesn't know the effect she has."

But, by the look of his shorts, she's got a pretty good idea.


	5. Chapter 5: Taste

She tastes the eggs that Sae had fried. But not really. Because they don't taste like eggs at all, just ash and dust and misery.

He tried to eat on the train, but it was all tasteless to him. Like cardboard, apprehension, and anxiety.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

She startles from her nightmare, swapping the sleeping terror for the waking one. It's as if she can taste the ashes and dirt from her dream. Perhaps that is what pushes her out the door, trying to find out which ghost is outside, ready to throw more dirt in her mouth.

Salt, sweat, dirt. Those tastes mingle around in his mouth as he digs. First he digs the primroses out of their spot in the forest, then he digs a hole to plant them in on the side of this desolate house. As he stops to wipe the sweat from his face before it streams into his mouth, he sees her standing there. To see her alive, even if not well, is like taking a cold drink of water on a hot day.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

The eggs have flavour today. She's not sure if it's the added bacon grease, or the boy who sits near her. For the first time in so long, if ever, she thinks hope is near. So near she can almost taste it.

The bacon and eggs are the best thing he thinks he's eaten in years. Because she's here. He wasn't sure what to expect, but when he showed up, loaf of bread in hand, she was sitting at the table. He's not sure, but he hopes it's the start of something.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

She comes across the blackberry bushes she and Gale would eat from on one of their many excursions. The sweetness reminds her of summers gone by, of a different time with different people. And in that instant, the taste in her mouth changes from one of sweetness to one of bitterness.

He's burned the bread again. Ever since he returned to the district, he's been baking and baking and baking, trying to perfect what he used to be able to do in his sleep. But the burned bread reminds him of his mother.

_Ugh. You stupid boy! You burned the bread again. When will you learn to pay attention to what you're doing? We can't afford this waste! _

He ate many loaves of burnt bread, the ashy taste meant to 'teach him a lesson'. Except there was that one loaf. The one he was supposed to feed to the pigs. He fed her instead.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

Sae has somehow gotten ahold of some oranges, leaving them for Katniss to eat. Without much thought, she peels one, separates the slices, and bites into the juicy section. Immediately she thinks of Gale, and his kiss that tasted like oranges. She quietly gets up and walks upstairs, shutting herself into her room. She doesn't come out for three days. Between the blackberries and the oranges, she doesn't think she can face the ghosts of past Gale anymore.

He startles awake and checks the clock. 4:30 in the morning, might as well wake up. What was that dream? For the first time in he doesn't know how long, it wasn't a dream of mutts and blood and death, but of his family. They were in the bakery, everything in black and white and all of the goods were mouldy. His mother stood in the middle of the shop swinging a broom at him and yelling, "No you can't eat that! It's for the customers you idiot!"

He's not sure what's worse, a dream about mutts, or a dream about his dead family. He gets up out of bed, his mouth sour tasting from the night's sleep, and the bile that came up during that dream. He moves down to the kitchen. Another day, more baking. It's what he does best these days.

He can't shake the feeling he's had since he woke. All he can focus on is the apple and goat cheese tart they used to make. He makes a phone call and later that day Sae brings him apples and goat cheese. It's an obsession by this point.

Once it's out of the oven and cooled, he cuts himself a piece. It tastes of stale baked goods, and of that cave in the first arena. He leaves the rest on the counter for Sae. He spends the rest of the day and night in his studio, painting his memories.

It gives him an idea.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

She finds the mint growing not far from the stream. In an instant she remembers, and a small smile crosses her face. She remembers how chewing on a mint leaf, then drinking the water makes it seem that much cooler, fresher, sweeter. She's beginning to enjoy the woods again, remembering the flavors she could forage from it's depths. The ghosts of the past are beginning to recede, she's herself here once again.

His counter is full. Cakes and breads and tarts are all laid out. Sae comes in, "Well, sir! Just look at you."

"I was thinking…" He says unsure.

"I think it's a great idea," she tells him with a smile, patting his hand.

"I'll go talk to Thom then. Tell him I definitely want the site."

"Good plan, son," she nods. "People will be glad to have fresh goods again. It's been too long."

"I'll need a taste tester though," he says with a smile. "Do you think your granddaughter will be up to it?"

The old lady leaves with a laugh and a promise. She tells him how glad she is to see him coming back.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

Her first squirrel is frying on the stove, wild roots are roasting in the oven. It's a feast fit for a king, _whatever that means_ she thinks. She just remembers her mother saying that when she was younger, when her father was still bringing in so much from the forest. Now she's used herbs she found in the woods to flavor the food, and her mother's old recipes to guide her. For a moment she thinks about her mother, wondering how she's getting along in 4. When they speak, she's always chipper, always happy to talk. But underneath Katniss thinks she feels something different, though she doesn't quite know what it is. They've reached a new understanding, mother and daughter. They realize they truly are cut from the same cloth. Once Katniss accepted this, it was easier to accept her mother living in 4 while she was stuck in 12. Not that it doesn't sting from time to time, but still. Easier.

He bites into the squirrel and smiles at her. "Katniss, it tastes better than I remember." And he eats the rest of the meal in silence, letting his chewing do the talking. He doesn't have as much to say these days, but he doesn't feel the need to say as much either. The silences are golden, spending time with each other says it all.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

When she thinks of Gale, she thinks of ashes and oranges and despair. That's the taste he left.

When she thinks of Peeta, she thinks of dill and cinnamon, of bread and apples. She thinks of fresh green leaves and springtime. Where Gale left despair, Peeta leaves hope. Where Gale left ashes, Peeta leaves a foundation.

If he had to think of a word to describe her, as if just one word could, he'd have to say fresh. Like fresh grass growing in the meadow. Fresh fruit from the apple tree out back. Fresh water flowing in the stream just a mile or so into the woods. Fresh. Katniss. That's what she is now. Fresh.

KPKPKPKP

Come on!" She tells him impatiently. "There's something I want to show you!"

He's not sure what it is, but something pushes him on. He'll follow her, just about anywhere at this point. It's obvious, he knows.

"What could possibly be this urgent?" He asks. "Can't we even clean up here?" The remains of breakfast are spread around the kitchen. Crumbs from the toast, bacon grease splattered on the counter top.

He's been back four or five months now. Sae remarks almost every day at the improvement Katniss and Peeta have made since then. "Almost like she was waiting for something, boy," she says knowingly.

"Well, I guess it's not urgent, but I do want you to see it...Today," she adds with a smile.

Together they clean up the breakfast mess, pack some snacks in a couple of containers Katniss had laying around the house, and they head out into the forest.

As they reach a clearing, Katniss slows down a bit to let Peeta catch up. "Are these blueberries?" he asks in wonder.

"Yep! I know! I found them here last week. I think they're ripe enough to pick."

As they pick the berries, they eat. The tender, mealy berries burst with juice as he bites into them, They're sweet, but not too sweet. It gives him an idea.

She watches as he eats the berries. She can't help but observe how his mouth transforms. She wonders if they taste different in his mouth than they do hers. For a split second she thinks she'll kiss him to see.

_Kiss him! _ She thinks. _Where did that come from?_

But if she's honest with herself, she'd know. Because in the months that he's been back, she's begun to wake up, finally wake up. Sae is right when she says that Katniss was waiting for something. Katniss is almost ready to admit it.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Summer freshness gives way to the crisp taste of fall. The woods prepare to sleep for the winter, and Katniss knows to take full advantage of this opportunity. What she doesn't want to think about is what was happening a year ago. So she hunts. She hunts.

Peeta finds a wild apple tree in the woods one day. At least he thought he found it. But when he shows it to Katniss, she smiles and points out all of the trees around. He realizes this is where those brave enough would find those apples long ago. Or maybe just a few years. It doesn't really matter. He sits under the tree, eats an apple, and allows the taste to wash over him, and the memories that come, of a girl starving, of a goat cheese and apple tart, they don't hurt so much anymore.

KPKPKPKP

They manage the winter like they've managed everything. Together. The nightmares increase the closer it gets to the anniversary of that fateful day. When they wake up, the ground is covered in snow, and the memories just pull her down.

He makes breakfast, but they barely eat. The taste of everything seems to have disappeared. Later he makes lunch, then supper. It's all dust and ash and memory.

They decide to sleep instead.

KPKPKPKP

The next morning dawns bright and clear. The crisp taste of winter in the air though all he can taste is the staleness of his own breath. As he lays there, eyes closed, he feels what he can only describe as wet softness on his neck. "Buttercup! Go away!" He mumbles. But as he pushes, he discovers it's not Buttercup, but Katniss.

"You taste like home" she tells him. "You taste like my home."


	6. Chapter 6: Touch

Soft, yet pliable. Some tension, but still a bit of give. That's what it feels like to bite into a hand. Katniss is amazed at the ease in which her teeth break through the skin. Her tongue feels the roughness of his exposed skin. She spits out the chunk of skin she's bitten off, and feels rage tinged with guilt. Why won't he leave her? Why won't he let her go? She had it all planned out, and he's ruined it.

Sharp, painful, but soon the pain goes away. He looks and sees a chunk of his hand is missing, but yet he feels nothing. That's not true. He feels so much, too much. But it's all in his heart. He feels so much for her. Hatred, anger, love, helplessness. He can't let her go. Not one part of him can.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Feral. Wild. Inhuman. Those are the words she thinks she hears Sae call her, when she's speaking to someone on the phone. Her mother? Plutarch? Peeta? Dr. Aurelius? She doesn't know and she doesn't care. She's a wild animal in a cage. No one can touch her, no one can get close to her. She would be better off let loose in the forest with the wild dogs. She's no better than they are, really. But she's still, with all of this, still Katniss. Sae can still see that fierce girl underneath. The eyes may appear dead, but she's still alive.

Skittish, claustrophobic, nervous. No one can get near him, let alone near enough to touch him. He jumps at the quietest sound, snarls at the softest voice. And in the evening, when he's supposed to be asleep, he's been known to call out for his mother. Dr. Aurelius works hard to figure out the best form of treatment. Not only was he hijacked, but he still suffers from PTSD from two Hunger Games and being a prisoner of war. He also suffers from a childhood in District 12: a mother who may not have been the most positive influence and a father who just stood by. But there is something else there, something undefinable that shines through. And it's enough to give him hope.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKP

She's been alone for so long. First in her room in the training center, where they held her in solitary confinement through all of those weeks of the trial, then in 12 where she's been banished. There are bursts of people, but they just bring noise and food. She hasn't been touched in so long, she's not sure if she even remembers what it feels like.

He wishes they'd stop touching him. Poking and prodding, taking blood. Taking everything but never giving. He's tired of people touching him, but wishes to be held. What is wrong with him?

KPKPKPKPKPKPKP

The chair she sits in is made of wood. If it were made of cloth, surely it would have formed a cocoon around her by this point. But because it is wood, it is hard and unforgiving. She might have a splinter in her hand, she doesn't know and she doesn't care. She just sits there, in the hard wooden chair, the heat from the fire dying out and leaving her cold. A feeling she's quite used to.

The seats on the train are made of velvet. So smooth to the touch. The handles on the chairs are made of wood, most of them are polished to a high shine, but he finds the one part that isn't, and his finger aches with the splinter that's embedded itself. He doesn't mind though. It keeps him just enough on edge, just enough awake. He's afraid what might happen if he falls asleep. The ride to 12 takes the same amount of time it did the first time he made this journey forever and a lifetime ago- when he was reaped. He stares out the window, rubbing the spot on his hand. He will be home soon. Whatever that means.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Moving from the chair to the sofa was remarkably easy in some ways, remarkably difficult in others. She likes that chair though, it doesn't remember her. There is no evidence, in the solid wood, that she sat there. She thinks about that. If she were to disappear, where would the evidence of her existence be? In the air? In the ground? Anywhere? Oh yes, it would be in the voices and experiences of those she's left in her destructive wake. She moves her hand along the fabric of this couch. It's bumpy. Rough, but not hard. It's forgiving. Forgiving. Interesting thought. She's not too sure how she feels about that. She drifts off into that neverland of sleep.

The shovel feels heavy in his hand, the metal handle is cold to his touch, but the wooden shaft is smooth and warm. He puts his foot on the blade and shoves it into the dirt. The clay under his feet is hard, but smooth. He thought there might be more rocks, more resistance, but he's pleasantly surprised at the ease the shovel has breaking the earth. It doesn't take much time before the wheelbarrow is filled with the plants he was determined to find.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKP

The door opens rather easily, she decides. Must be a sign that she, too, is a ghost. Just like those in her dream, shovelling ashes on her grave. Perhaps she's gone through the door instead of opening it? She feels nothing but the gush of air as she runs after the sound that haunts her waking dream. She stops abruptly though. If that's a ghost in front of her, it's a very solid one.

The earth is cool and damp to the touch. The clay dirt is still wet from melting snow and from rain. Spring is in the air though, he can feel it. He plants the primroses one by one, revelling in the feel of dirt under his nails. His mother would be appalled. No baker should have dirty nails. Sends a wrong message to the public. He looks up, noticing a disturbance in the ions surrounding him. She's as quiet as ever. And underneath her despair that shows from her every pour, she's still as fierce and beautiful.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

The lock is smooth and cool, and latches with a loud click. Does it keep the ghosts out or in? Probably in. She rushes up the stairs, stubbing her toe on the top. The pain is the most real thing she's felt in months. Suddenly it all becomes clear- the evil is inside, in her room. She picks up the vase, firm in her hand, runs down the stairs, and destroys Snow once and for all.

He continues to plant the flowers, notices the weight of the now empty wheelbarrow, and goes home.

KPKPKPKP

She didn't realize how dirty she was, until she was clean.

Methodically he cleans the dirt from his hands, from under his nails.

KPKPKPKP

The first time she held her bow in her hands it almost feels like a foreign object. After using the one Beetee designed these are so simple. Rudimentary. She's going back to the basics. Back to herself. She wonders if she'll like who she sees inside.

The flour on his hands is dry. Adding water gives it the sticky texture he remembers in the back creases of his mind. Flour. Yeast. Water. He's remembering himself. With every turn of the dough, he remembers.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

She made it to the woods on her own. It was hard to avoid the dead bodies, to avoid the destruction, but as she sits on the rock, solid under her, she has time to think. She wonders what Gale would think of her now, and what she thinks of Gale. Sae says he's in 2. She digs around inside her to see what she feels about that. She decides she's glad, because the Gale of today isn't the Gale she needs to know. She doesn't need his fire, it burns too hotly. She's not sure what she needs, but she has her whole life to figure it out. So she sits and rests and listens and feels.

He picks up the paintbrush that seems to have been quickly discarded. Why didn't he clean it before he left? He throws it in the garbage, it's mottled mess good for nothing now. He looks at his skin in the mirror, another mottled mess. Is he good for anything now? He'll have to think about that. He remembers Delly coming to visit him before he left the Capitol. Her firm grip on his neck as she hugged him, letting him know he was there, she was there. They were all they had left from their childhood, and she was going to make sure he didn't forget. "Don't be a stranger Peeta," she says into his ear. "We didn't come this far to forget. I'll be in 12 soon enough. Be there, and make sure Katniss is too," she declares, then leaves. He feels the tears streak down his cheek, just as they did that day Delly sent him off. She wants him to remember, he wants to forget. Somehow he knows Delly will win this game, just like she always won when they were little. He leaves the painting and goes back to baking. Much safer today.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

She feels sick, dizzy, by the time she makes it back to the fence surrounding the District. She forgot how much effort it takes to walk, let alone walk through the woods. Thom, Gale's former crewmate, finds her there and gives her a ride home. He doesn't say much, which she's grateful for. She doesn't think she can muster up the energy to talk, even if it is just pleasantries. Thom is Seam though. Thom understands.

He loses himself in his baking. Before he knows it, he has a kitchen full of bread and pastries. He can almost feel his mother's grudging approval, "Now you're a baker, boy. Clean it up." He imagines his father off to the side, his brothers laughing into their sleeves. They all leave him alone, mother, father, brothers. Just as in life, they leave him on his own. In their death, he's alone again.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

The pillow she throws at Buttercup is soft, and it's amazing how hard she can throw it. So she throws another pillow, and still another. The damn cat won't leave her alone. She has so many feelings, she can't name any of them. So she cries and feels the insides of her body constrict. She physically mourns her sister, from the inside out.

He picks her up and realizes she feels like next to nothing. He couldn't believe the sounds coming out of her house, but as he ran over, he realized something impossible had happened. Buttercup has returned. He could hear the squeals of the cat, the pounding of objects being thrown. When he enters her living room, he sees her there on the floor. She's curled around herself, exhaustion has taken over. She barely moves as he lifts her and puts her in her bed. Interestingly, he remembers exactly where her room is. That part hasn't been stolen from him. He sets her on the bed, Buttercup following him the whole way, like a partial observer, making sure no harm comes to Katniss. As he turns to close the door, he notices Buttercup at the head of the bed. On guard. Protecting the only thing left of Prim.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Buttercup is rough and matted, much like Katniss was just yesterday. She cleans him up, and they make a pact. They vow to keep each other alive. For Prim. By the time she is finished, he is soft, and his cuts are treated. She nods at him, "Good enough. Go play." He slowly leaves the room, looking back as if to say, "_Thank you."_

She opens the letter, cool to the touch. She picks up the phone, it fits perfectly in her hand. Dialing the number, she says one word when the phone is answered, "Mom?" And so it begins, the healing of years.

As the dawn breaks over those smoky mountains, he pulls the loaf of bread out of the oven. It's warm, and solid and tender. It's perfect. He wraps it up in a towel, and heads out the door. Time for breakfast. Time to get on with living.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

"It'll be like my plant book, remember that?" She asks him, and holds the old, worn journal out to him. "We can write down our memories. Dr. Aurlelius thinks it's a good idea, he sent me pages from the Capitol."

"Sure Katniss," he says with a small smile. "I think it'll be great. But you'll have to help me remember." He's still so shy about his memories, about what they did to him.

"I know," she tells him eagerly. "That's one reason I want to do this. I want to do this for you now, but also for us as we get older. We can't forget. Promise me we can't forget!"

So they begin to write a book of memories, and in the process they discover each other once again.

When they get to Gale's page, Peeta holds off, unsure. He stands up as if to leave, but Katniss reaches over and grabs his hand. Her touch is soft, yet determined. "Don't go Peeta. Don't leave me." She can barely look at him for fear he _will_ remember, and leave her. He shakes his head at her, "No Katniss. I'll never leave you again."

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

It's the first time she's been to the lake since she's been back. She has been inching her way further and further into the forest each day, so she knew with confidence she could make it here. Spring has been in full bloom for a few weeks, and the weather gives her the confidence she needs to hike deep into the woods. In the boggy areas surrounding the lake she sees them. The arrowhead leaves give them away. Katniss plants. She feels, rather than hears her father, "As long as you can find yourself, you'll never starve Katniss." She takes this in. She's found herself here, at the lake. She feels her father's smile. She is on her way.

He's never really been in the woods before. He doesn't go in too far, and stays close to the path she's trodden. It's an adventure for his senses, but it's his sense of touch that takes over. He feels the bark of the tree, the rough rocks that overlook the valley, the cool dirt and air. He sits on a rock and allows himself to feel the world come to life around him. Later, he's not sure how much because he's obviously fallen asleep, he feels her touch on his arm. "Hey sleepyhead! What are you doing here?" She softly asks.

"Just...feeling the place out," he replies. He moves over so she can sit next to him. They both feel how right it is.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

She feels him solid and strong. His muscles as hard as a wooden post. But something feels wrong here. Where he should be soft, he's rigid. It's been awhile since he's had a flashback, but it seems as if they still catch him at unaware. "Stay with me!"

The chair is solid under his hands. If he holds on tight enough he'll stay tethered to reality. Because that's all he has right now, holding him here. This chair. But soon he feels another, softer touch pulling him back. Soft hands running up and down his arm. It's not much, but it's enough to remind him of a promise he made. "Always."

KPKPKPKP

it's rough, but it's also soft. It has give, but not too much give. The sand on this beach is different than the sand on the beach in the quarter quell. That sand was fine, stuck to everything, including them. This sand is grittier. Much like the district it's on the outskirts of. It's more a crumble of granite than sand, but he has no other word for it.

The beach in 4 was even more different. That sand was not as fine as in the Quell, but not as gritty as here at the lake. The sand in 4 is more a product of centuries of surf pounding the sandstone. This must be more a product of the limestone and granite that surround the lake. Funny how one thing, one word, _sand_, can mean something different depending on where you are.

This sand, this beach, is really just a little outcrop. Mostly the lake has dirt and mud. But in this one spot, there is a sandy entrance. It feels hot on his feet, or rather his foot. He quickly moves over it to get into the water, afraid to add more burns to the scars he already has.

He finds it fascinating, even now. How he can feel with one foot, but not the other. He doesn't need to let the burning of the sand get to him, all he needs to do is pick up his good foot. He remembers that quick trip to the beach in 4 when they were on their victory tour. The sounds of the ocean crashing down in front of them. It was too big, too wild, much like the crowds at that stop. Fury barely controlled. Even now, thinking about it, he feels the anxiety he did then. His heart beats wildly in his chest. He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself. He bends over to run his hand through the gritty sand and begins to calm down . Portia once gave him a small sandbox a million years ago, to try to help him focus. She said something about it being "Zen". He didn't know what that meant then, and still doesn't. It had rocks and a tiny rake with it too. He remembers laughing at it at the time, now he wonders if it's still in his closet. He remembers how the simple movement of the small rake in his hand, so smooth to the touch, helped him find peace in the middle of the storm of that Victory Tour and beyond. Might not hurt to give it a go on those nights when sleep is elusive…

She loves the sand at the lake. It's unlike any other sand she's felt. It's grainy, and it makes her think that it's an extension of the rocks, of the mountains that she is such a part of. She watches Peeta as he maneuvers over the sand, amazed at his resilience. He's been through so very much, yet he remains the most positive person she has ever known. She watches as he moves his good foot through the sand, she can tell the contrast between his feeling foot and his artificial one amazes him. It's the look in his eye, the same one she's caught on him when he stares at her, when he thinks shes not looking.

If anyone should be amazed though, it's her. Amazed that this boy, man, came back to 12. For her. He can say it's home, and it partly is, she'll agree. But she knows he could go anywhere in Panem, anywhere, and be welcomed. He would have more opportunities as both a baker and an artist, too. So why would he stay in 12? For her? She's amazed by that thought. Who ever, in her life, has done this? Sacrificed so much for her? The thought stops her. She feels it deep inside her gut. Peeta has given her everything.

She gets up, strips down to her shift and panties under her clothes, and goes in the water before her face betrays any of her thoughts.

He feels the cool touch of the water on his leg as he eases into the lake. Each step brings him deeper. The salt lake? Ocean? of the second arena was warm, like tepid bathwater. This is cool. Not cold, but enough to take his breath away as his body acclimates to its temperature. He likes it. It refreshes. He feels clean in a way. It's hard for him to explain this feeling to Katniss. He, who has words for everything, has none to explain how swimming in this lake seems to purify him, make him new. It sounds right in his head, but he knows as soon as those words would leave his mouth, it would seem ridiculous. So he keeps quiet and allows this feeling of being reborn to wash over him.

She rises from the water, aware he's looking at her. She can almost feel the intensity of his stare, and that's how she realizes she's certain. Their touches at night have become more intense of late. The feel of his lips on her has become harder, more desperate, and she returns those kisses with just as much desperation. She is ready, she's sure he is. And she walks away, wet clothes clinging to her cool body, sending a signal to him that her feelings are definitely mutual.

He feels his erection starting as soon as she rises out of the water. The way her clothes cling to her soft curves, the way her hips sway as she walks. He's fairly sure she wants him, he knows he's always wanted her. He wonders what it would feel like to to be that wet shift, clinging to her every curve.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

Later that evening, in bed she leans up on her elbow, facing him. Her hand reaches out to touch his face. His smooth forehead gives way to the rough beard. He'll shave in the morning, but the stubble under her fingers reminds her of that time in the cave. "Before our first games, did you have to shave?"

"Well," he tells her shyly. "I did, but it was more like that fuzz you get on peaches. I didn't have to shave every day, if that's what you're asking."

"No. Just curious. I was remembering how they waxed and plucked me like a chicken ready for the pot," she laughs. "I hated that. I loved the feel of my hair on my legs. They took that away. I was wondering about you boys."

"They put some concoction on me," he remembers. "Hurt like hell. I'd rather shave every day, thank you."

She doesn't know why, but she has a sudden urge to lean over and kiss him. She doesn't resist, and neither does he. His lips feel soft, pliable, yet firm. She can tell he's letting her control the pace right now. She wants it slow and soft yet fast and hard. She wants to feel what it's like to be inside of him, to be a part of him. Soon she's on top, straddling him. Her whole body tingles with anticipation. Kissing is not enough to feed this hunger. She needs more. She wants more. She knows that this is it, she can never go back. She can never _not _be with Peeta. To give in to this hunger means giving into a world where she is no longer alone. Giving in to a world where she will always be with him. It's the only thing she wants. "I want to feel you. Run my fingers down your body. Memorize you with my touch," she tells him in the dark.

He's almost afraid at the intensity of her kisses, until he remembers, this is Katniss. There really isn't much subtle about her. When she is in, she is all in. When she commits to something or someone, there is no going back. He's overwhelmed with this. He feels it wash over him, this desire she has for him. It's as if every dream he's ever had is coming true all at once. And he is ready. He feels her hand on his chest, the nails scratching down his torso. For something that should cause pain, something that should make him afraid, he's amazed at how it actually excites him even more. Soon, she's pushed him onto his back. He can feel the coolness of the sheets pull him out of the moment, but Katniss's kisses demand that he refocus on her.

As he slides into her soft folds, her warmth surrounds him. He needs to pause, knowing the next few moves are crucial, and he struggles to hang on.

"It's ok Peeta. Let go," he feels her voice tickle his ear. He shatters inside of her, into a million pieces.

She feels him shake and fall apart, but she holds him tight, not letting him go. She's watched him pick up the pieces of his life, he's watched, cajoled, and helped her pick up her own pieces. They've gotten so far, she will never let go.

_And after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him real. _


	7. Chapter 7: Epilogue- That's How You Know

Waking up is a process for the senses. First to wake up is the sense of smell. One minute you're dreaming you're in the kitchen, the next you're eating a loaf of bread. It's amazing how the smell combined with the dream becomes a thing to remember.

Next to wake up is the hearing. The clattering and banging and bumping. Shovels in dirt, dishes in the kitchen. The sounds work together to rouse you from that dream you seemed to be wandering through.

Once you wake, and open your eyes, your sense of sight takes over. You look around the room, bathed in the soft glow of the early morning sunlight. You have to decide, will you allow the dream to take over your waking life, just as it has your sleeping?

Sometimes you have no choice, the dreams of the past can overwhelm the contentment of today. But sometimes, just sometimes, that dream is so special, you want to hang on to it with both hands because you don't want to let it go. You want to save it for those rainy days that are sure to haunt you.

You move through your early morning routine, up and out of bed. Bathroom and brush your teeth. The taste of the cool mint and water wakes your tastebuds, Combined with the smell coming from the kitchen, makes your mouth water. You fight off the memories of a time you were so dehydrated you almost died. Instead you focus on now. You wonder what he's made for you today. You hope it's cheesebuns, because you've been craving them for about as long as you've been craving him- since the dawn of time you're pretty sure.

The feel of the soft clothes against your skin propels you on. You want something, but you can't quite name it. Or, rather, you're afraid to name it because what if the only person who wants this is you? He turns around at the sound of your clothes rustling into the kitchen, and you realize, no. You are not the only one who's craving something. His senses are on high alert, just as yours are.

You both smile a bit shyly. Talk about how you slept, your days ahead of you. He's going to the bakery, you the woods. Same as always, but maybe not really the same? Because something inside of you, both of you, is waking up. Like a bird, ready to take its first flight, the wings unfurl inside, a promise, a wish, a prayer.

KPKPKPKP

One moment you are a pair of eighteen year old's, hanging on to each other for dear life, afraid not so much of the dark, but what the dark can bring.

The next moment you are twenty-five, still clinging to each other in the dark, but also clinging to each other in the light for very different reasons.

Then you are thirty-three and you cling to him, breathe him in, for the solid rock that he is. He tells you to breath, to push, and then you hear a cry that sounds both beautiful and pathetic at the same time, and you know automatically. You never have to question this love again.

Then you are pushing fifty. You have scars on scars, but they are good scars, they are the scars of new life, two times around. You move slower in the morning, need glasses to help you read the fine print that the Capitol insist you read.

But your aim is still dead on.

In many ways, you're still that eighteen year old girl. You still need to cling to him in the dark. He is still the rock that keeps you grounded in reality, just as you are the bird who helps him soar.

You are the best thing in each others lives.


End file.
